


september song

by pinksunlight



Series: we were raised under grey (pink, black, peach, brown) skies [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: First Loves, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Nostalgia, Past Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, it's raining in september and mark's memories pay him a little visit, mixtapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksunlight/pseuds/pinksunlight
Summary: First loves are funny, they ache like a bruise but stick around like a scar.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Na Jaemin
Series: we were raised under grey (pink, black, peach, brown) skies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121540
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	september song

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna have fun with this series! it's mostly for me lmao bc i like writing short things and plots are Hard. i'm aiming for eight fics as of rn!!!
> 
> _[we](https://open.spotify.com/album/3cS0qzNDjE5SjdAL1W98fo?highlight=spotify:track:0zbzrhfVS9S2TszW3wLQZ7) had that mixtape on every weekend  
> had it repeating  
> had it repeating_
> 
> _you were my september song  
>  summer lasted too long  
> time moves so slowly  
> when you're only fifteen_
> 
> _sometimes i think that i see your  
>  face in the strangest of places  
> down on the underground station  
> passing by ___

**8:59 am**

Mark wakes up on a Saturday morning to rain rapping against his window. Out of habit, he sweeps an arm out beside him, and isn’t all that surprised to find the sheets have gone cold.

It’s certainly not unusual, not with the countless grievances he’s aired to Jaemin about his job being so demanding, about the two of them rarely getting weekends to themselves. Still, it nags at Mark enough for him to sit up, bare feet sliding against the cool floor, shoulders too tense for a lazy weekend.

Seeing Jaemin’s face in the mornings always helps put him in a good mood, setting the tone for a good day, so it’s always a little disappointing not to wake up to his dark eyelashes fanned out against pale skin, soft lips parted just slightly as he takes in long, deep breaths.

It’s disappointing, but Mark knows they have later, they’ll always have later, so he doesn’t dwell on it.

The rain is beating down outside like it’s spring and not autumn, Mark notices when he finally opens his eyes wide enough to get a good look. He hopes it’s warm, already shuddering at the thought of having nothing but his umbrella to brave the downpour all the way out to the bus stop.

Getting up, he walks slowly to the window, cracking it open timidly only to drag it back down after jumping from the cool spray that meets his abdomen.

Great, so much for wishful thinking.

Meeting up for brunch has never sounded so painstaking, but he promised Johnny, and his brother is many things, but patient has never been one of them.

Crossing his arms, he watches people pass by on the street below, quickly spotting a small kid dressed in yellow jumping around from puddle to puddle. A makeshift sun on a dreary day. It pulls an old, buried memory to the surface, and the corners of Mark’s mouth quirk up.

He gives himself a few more seconds to watch fondly before tearing himself away from the window to get ready.

**9:32 am**

Mark groans and drops back onto his heels, knees already feeling sore. He could’ve sworn he’d shoved his winter stuff into the bottom drawer, so where did that stupid hat _go_?

He was going to run late if he spent any more time uselessly rummaging through his stuff. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out his phone to call Jaemin, hoping he wasn’t too busy just yet. Jaemin picks up on the third ring, and Mark sinks fully to the ground, scooting back to lean fully against his bed.

“Mark!” Comes Jaemin’s voice on the other end, impossibly bright. The grey skies outside seem to colour with his voice alone, and Mark can feel the smile involuntarily creep up on his face.

“Morning, babe,” Mark replies, laughing, “how is it that you can sound like _that_ at nine in the morning?”

“It’s 9:34,” Jaemin corrects primly, “and I don’t, not for anyone but you!”

His voice gets sickly sweet at the end, and Mark makes choking sounds just to hear Jaemin giggle.

Once he calms down, he asks, “What’s up, though? Is everything okay?”

“Mm, sorry for calling so early, but did you see my blue hat anywhere? The knit one?”

Mark waits as Jaemin thinks on the other end, his eyes land on the box at the bottom of his closet right as Jaemin replies, “Wait, I think I saw it on the floor of the closet? It was in your shoebox, I think. Is this for brunch? Dress warmly, okay, the rain’s cold.”

He’s already reaching for the box, flipping it open to reveal his hat. Of course, because why _wouldn’t_ it be in a completely random spot where it doesn’t belong? Two more minutes, two more minutes and he could’ve avoided bothering Jaemin.

“Found it, thanks, Nana. I’m dressing warm, did you take an umbrella with you?” Jaemin hums in reply, sounding a little distracted now, and Mark quickly wraps up. “Alright, I’ll see you at home, then! Go back to work. Love you.”

Jaemin’s voice falls quieter, almost regretful, as he murmurs, “Love you. I’ll be home tomorrow all day, I swear. Bye, baby.”

Na Jaemin, heart three sizes too big and just as soft. Mark promises himself to reassure him that they’re fine later on today, but for now all he can do is try and convey all his love as he says goodbye.

Tucking his phone away, he’s halfway to pulling the hat on when he notices something buried under it, deep in the shoebox of old relics Mark never had the heart to throw away. It’s a little dusty and the wires for the headphones are all tangled up, but when Mark pulls his old Walkman out, it still sends the same thrill of excitement it used to when he was 15.

Suddenly, he remembers exactly when it last rained so hard.

He only hesitates for a second before grabbing it, detangling the wires as he heads to the door. He grabs an umbrella and locks the door behind him before pressing play. (There’s no point in checking for a cassette inside, he’d never taken it out.)

**10:00 am**

**johnny:** yeah the rain is crazy today

 **johnny:** i’ll wait, don’t worry

 **johnny:** you’re paying now, though

 **johnny:** :)

bro

thanks for waiting ig

be there soon i promise

**10:35 am**

The train still hasn’t come by the time the fifth Michael Jackson starts playing.

Even down here at the station, there are shallow puddles littered everywhere, brought in from the foot traffic, no doubt. Mark’s tried avoiding them all but the cold is starting to seep through his shoes, permeating his socks. He shivers, trying to make himself as small as possible on the bench while he waits to conserve body heat.

When he was younger he didn’t get cold so easily, one of the countless benefits of youth. Now he’s just old and cranky (or as old and cranky as he can be at the ripe age of 27). If he was being honest, though, it probably had something to do with his company, too. Sunkissed, eyes like melted chocolate, laughter like sunshine—how would anyone manage to stay cold around someone like _that_?

The distant rumble of a train causes Mark to look up, hand instinctively going up to ensure his headphones don’t slip off with the sudden movement. Down the tunnel, lights appear as people start stepping up the platform. But they pass everyone by quickly, probably skipping ahead to the end station for maintenance.

When the last car rushes by, leaving only a strong gust of cool air in its wake, two teenagers stand on the other side that Mark hadn’t noticed before. One is tall and lanky in that awkward teenaged way, and the other has an air of confidence so strong it spans across the tracks and hits Mark, waking him up a bit.

They make an all too familiar picture.

**XX:XX (all those years ago)**

It rains on the first day of school, but Donghyuck is the first to greet him wearing a bright yellow raincoat and a smile that could knock any unsuspecting stranger flat on their back. A late-start because they’re sophomores now, because they’re older and don’t need to attend basic orientation, but they’re also as young as they’ll ever be again and Mark has spent the entire summer wanting to kiss his best friend but not knowing how.

And maybe it’s that very thought of never getting orientation again, never having someone to hold his hand and guide him through something new and scary, that has him thinking _fuck it, fuck it I can do this, because if I don’t now, I never will._

So he stalks up to Donghyuck and drops his umbrella on the ground to pull him in and kiss him square on the mouth in front of everyone. He startles back when he remembers he probably should’ve asked, but then Donghyuck’s pulling him back in, smiling against his lips as the hood of his raincoat falls down and rain starts sticking his bangs together.

And that’s that.

Fifteen is spent shirking homework and syncing bathroom breaks to spend time with each other between classes, fifteen is spent with Mark picking up habits from Donghyuck he’ll never quite be able to shake (the way he closes his 4’s, the way he laughs with his mouth open, head thrown back, the way he bites his fingers when he’s spacing out).

Fifteen is spent with a mixtape slipped cheekily into Mark’s new Walkman before saying goodbye for the day—Mark doesn’t like Michael Jackson all that much, but he likes Donghyuck _so_ much, and so the Walkman only ever learns to hold one tape.

Fifteen is spent with secrets that come forth when summer does.

Fifteen is spent crying, hating, resenting.

Fifteen is spent with heartbreak so fierce Mark thinks the world is ending, because he is young and fragile like a seedling, and all too aware that it only takes a little less sunlight for him to start shriveling up.

Fifteen is spent watching a van drive away with suitcases and his first love sitting in the backseat.

Fifteen is spent. All spent.

**10:44 am**

Mark blinks, and the kids don’t look too familiar anymore. His eyebrows lower, his mouth shuts, a train arrives. The Walkman keeps playing as he steps onto the train and grabs a hold of the pole, his feet tapping along to the music in the way they learned to when he was younger, when another pair of feet tapped along beside him even without music.

First loves are funny, they ache like a bruise but stick around like a scar. All it takes is for someone to find it on his skin and ask, innocently, where he got it from, before the memories start flooding in. Even after so many years, it’s hard to not see Donghyuck in the little things (after all, they were best friends before they were more, and friends will always ache longer, will always scar deeper).

Of course, old scars fade overtime until they’re almost imperceptible.

Donghyuck is the rain, but Jaemin’s become an umbrella.

It’s the middle of September and Mark finds that he’s happy, sitting on a subway listening to Michael Jackson, dressed warm because he has someone who would worry if he didn’t. He hopes that, somewhere, the boy eternally stuck at 15 in his memories is happy, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/punksunlight)


End file.
